


Can't Take You Anywhere

by thealexandriaarchives



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Academy Era, Ballet, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sappy, Timey-Wimey, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealexandriaarchives/pseuds/thealexandriaarchives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theta drags Koschei off to Earth again. But Cold War Era Russia? At the ballet? Shameless Valentine's Day Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Take You Anywhere

Over the years, Koschei has learned some things about Theta.

Notably, that when Theta takes an interest in something, it is nearly impossible to dissuade him; that he will usually drag Koschei into it; that if they are caught Koschei will take most of the blame, and that it is almost always worth it.

So when Theta burst into the library one afternoon and dragged him away from his theoretical metaphysics homework, babbling about a surprise, he decided to see where it would go.

“Do you mind filling me in on what we’re doing?” Koschei asked, as Theta eagerly tugged on his robe’s arm, dragging him outside.

“It’s a surprise. That’s the point.”

Then again, Theta and his little pet projects could be incredibly annoying.

Five minutes later, Koschei found himself standing in what was undeniably a TARDIS control room.

“We’re stealing a TARDIS? Really? I’m all for it, but doesn’t that go a little beyond our usual level of transgression?”

“We’re not stealing it,” Theta replied cheekily. “I filed for a special dispensation for students to travel. I’ve been waiting for it to go through for months!”

“You’ve been planning this for months, and you haven’t bothered to tell me?”

“I wanted to make sure we wouldn’t have to actually steal a TARDIS first.”

Koschei’s reply was cut off by the appearance of one of the flight instructors, carrying two large lumpy packages and frowning.

“You were supposed to wait outside for my arrival.”

“Sorry sir,” Koschei began to apologize, before Theta cut in, for once taking his share of the blame.

“My fault, sir. I was a bit overexcited. Koschei didn’t know.”

“Yes, well, that much is obvious,” he replied, a wry smile creeping onto his features. Theta was literally bouncing with excitement.

Handing the packages to Koschei, the instructor made his way over to the controls.

“Before we take off, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you boys that while you are traveling, you must behave in a manner befitting this academy…”

As he continued with the mandatory, (and in their case probably wise, yet futile), speech about non-interference, Theta maintained an appearance of interest, still bouncing on the balls of his feet, and forcing himself not to nod furiously, eager to go. Koschei was more interested in the packages he had been handed.

Unwrapping them, he found they were heavy woolen clothes and boots, which gave him some idea of the sort of planet they were headed, but not enough for him to make a full analysis. He’d always been more for the sciences. Theta’s interests ran more to the humanities.*

Within five minutes of takeoff, Theta had thoroughly charmed their pilot, asking a thousand intent and thoughtful questions, and listening with rapt attention to the replies.

Eventually, they came to a stop, and were directed to a room to change.

As the instructor pushed them out the door with a reminder that he would be back to collect them in six hours, Koschei stopped to take a preliminary look at his surroundings.

“Earth. How imaginative.”

Theta pointedly ignored the comment, though his cheeks did go a bit pink. However, that could be explained by the fact it was at least 30 degrees below zero, which, even for a Time Lord, was a bit cold.

“So where and when are we?”

“Earth,” (if the word was a bit emphasized, Koschei couldn’t tell), “1963, St. Petersburg.”

Koschei shook his head and stared in bemusement at his companion.

“You bother to get a special dispensation from the Prydonian Council, which I’m sure for two students with our records was no mean feat, you have all of history to choose from, and you choose the Soviet Union in the wintertime in the middle of Cold War? You really know how to show someone a good time, don’t you?”

One corner of Theta’s mouth quirked up in a wry, half-hearted grin.

“Well, I had a feeling the Prydonian counsel wouldn’t let ‘two students with our records’ loose in Venice at the height of the Renaissance. 20th Century Russia seemed safe enough that they’d let us go for a day, after I made a few dozen promises that we’d stay away from all military facilities.”

A few people had started to eye the two boys that were perfectly happy to stand still in the middle of street having a conversation in a near blizzard, so Theta started walking. “But I haven’t told you the best bit!"

Hitching up his wool collar, Koschei hurried forward to fall in step with his companion. “Oh joy. It gets better.”

Theta grinned in earnest now, catching the note

of interest Koschei was unable to completely conceal, and continued. “It’s St. Valentine’s Day! Well, not really, well, I mean, it is here, like I said, I had to wait a few months for the dispensation to come through, but it is Valentine’s day NOW, which is an old Earth custom that-”

Sensing one of Theta’s rants looming imminently, Koschei decided to intervene.

“Saint Valentine’s Day, a holiday established in 496 AD by Pope Gelasius I on February 14, to commemorate the death of a Saint Valentine, of which history remembers nothing but the date of his death, which in the Victorian era evolved to celebrate romantic love and affection by the giving of flowers, candy and cards. Over the centuries it evolved, and in the 51st century was banned on over 50 separate planets for its outrageous practices involving-what?”

Theta had stopped walking, and turned to fix him with an intense stare that Koschei interpreted as meaning something along the lines of “I have never loved you more than in this instant and if we were not in the middle of blizzard in a street on some backwater planet in a backwards time period I would throw you down and have you right now.”

Koschei shifted uncomfortably under Theta’s gaze, and immediately tried to cover up the unconscious motion by rolling his eyes and opening his mouth.

“Much as it may surprise you Theta, I do read some of those ridiculous Earth History books you continuously throw at me, if for no other reason than to avoid the tedious reading Borusa continues to assign. The real question is, if you felt like celebrating Valentine’s day, why did you bring me to Romantic Communist Russia?”

Some of his question must have reached whatever plane Theta was currently occupying, because he shook his head quickly, as if to physically settle his thoughts, and started walking once more.

“Where else are you going to go for proper Russian Ballet?”

“…You are joking.”

*****

He wasn’t.

Two hours later, Theta had managed to get them hopelessly lost, ejected from the tea house where they’d stopped for directions, (which had been warm, for Rassilon’s sake!), and finally led them in a circle back to a building a quarter mile from where they had been dropped off, simply in the opposite direction.

Now Theta was trying to purchase tickets from the rather scruffy looking man behind the ticket box, whose growing look of confusion mirrored Theta’s. Frustrated and cold, Koschei watched as Theta ordered two umbrellas with hot pepper sauce. Pushing him out of the way and stepping up to the window, he ordered two of whatever was currently playing in flawless Russian, apologizing for his friend who was currently suffering from degenerative cretinism.

Turning back to Theta, he found him looking more amused than annoyed.

“Dostoevsky?”

“One decent author does not a planet make.”

“Of course not.”

They quickly made their way to their seats in the fourth row. The house was surprisingly empty, even for a matinee. Koschei drily thought that that was what happened to the arts when the country was, on the whole, poorer than dirt.

The only other people in the theatre were a group of older ladies dressed in antiquated clothes that had clearly seen better days, another couple sitting towards the back who seemed far more infatuated by each other than by anything else in the theatre, and a couple of businessmen up in the balcony.

As the orchestra began the opening movements Koschei grudgingly admitted that this might not be so bad. Theta has that ridiculous soppy grin on his face as he wrapped his arms around Koschei and leaned against his shoulder. Now that he had regained some of the sensation in his limbs, he had to admit if felt nice. Even the orchestra wasn’t so bad, compared to what passed for music back home.

As the performers began to make their entrances, Koschei realized he was completely unfamiliar with the story, and in their hurry to make the opening curtain they had neglected to pick up programs.

Seeming to anticipate this, Theta leaned in a little closer and began to whisper the main plot points.

“The main character is Prince Ivan. He’s actually being portrayed here by Mikhail Barishnikov! Brilliant dancer, one of the best of the 20th century! Anyway, he’s just left his hunting party…”

Settling into his seat, Koschei allowed himself to relax and fall into the music, mingled pleasantly with Theta’s voice and the whirling colors onstage.

The story itself was a ridiculous fairy tale, with princes and princesses, and magical gardens, but even the ludicrous clichés seemed tolerable when told in excited whispers and the dramatic clamor of trombones and timpani’s.

As the Prince captured the mysterious and elusive Firebird and she fought back, swaying rhythmically with the music, Theta’s voice brought him out of his pleasant haze.

“…Beware, mortal, for these lands and all in them belong to Koschei the Immortal.”

Koschei gave a momentary start, before turning an incredulous look on the smirking boy beside him.

“Thought you’d like that.”

Allowing a languid smirk to grow across his face as well, Koschei leaned in to reply. “Are you telling me we’ve really come all this way for a cheap joke?”

“Mmmm… Well, what the hell else are you going to do in Soviet Russia?”

The performance continued, as Prince Ivan went to seek out the great and terrible wizard.

Theta’s narration continued as well.

“Now Ivan enters the lair of the great wizard, filled with gold and jewels, sacrificed princesses and slaves, tribute from every Kingdom in the land, to beg for mercy…”

Koschei resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. Theta’s voice seemed to have dropped several octaves, his lips nearly grazing Koschei’s ear, cool breath slipping down his neck to dissipate below his collar.

The music swelled and took on a new level of intensity, as the Wizard’s first appearance drew near, smoke issuing from the floor where a rotating trapdoor began to rise.

“All hail our Lord and Master, Koschei the Great,” Theta murmured, before finally closing those excruciating inches to press a kiss to Koschei’s neck, hands coming up to card through his hair, as he suckled on his pounding pulse point, feeling the hammering of the four-beat of Koschei’s hearts under the tip of his tongue.

Gripping the arms of his chair tightly and refusing to give in to such obvious tactics and a display in public, even if it was merely an empty theater on a backwards little planet, Koschei kept his focus on the stage, doing his best to ignore the enthusiastic attentions of the boy beside him, who continued, unperturbed by the apparent lack of interest he held.

As the smoke onstage cleared, Koschei the Immortal threw out his arms dramatically, as the princesses recoiled in terror.

Koschei the Time Lord merely recoiled.

The wizard was dressed in dark grey rags, covered in cheap prosthetic boils, and a matted grey wig that turned into a gnarled beard that fell to his knees.

As Koschei stared on in near horror, he slowly realized that Theta was laughing silently, his shoulders convulsing, breath still blowing cool on the wet patch he had made on the side of Koschei’s neck. Scowling, Koschei shrugged his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt to throw him off.

Theta fell back into his own chair as he tried and failed miserably to keep from laughing hysterically, his voice mingling with the orchestra.

“You-Your-I just-That’s-“

When his babbling and frenzied fits of laughter had not died down after a good minute, and the theater’s few other patrons and even some of the background dancers onstage had started to stare, Koschei decided it was time for them to leave.

With an exasperated growl, he pulled Theta back out of his seat by the lapels of that ridiculous wool coat to purr into his ear.

“I do believe you owe me an apology.”

Theta grinned, and regaining some control, wormed his way out of his captor’s grasp and turned his gaze back to the stage.

“Another time, perhaps. I did promise the Prydonian Council we were here to study high culture in primitive-oh.”

He had remained still long enough for Koschei to ambush him and reciprocate some of his previous attentions.

“I don’t like the end of this story anyway.”

Nearly tripping over each other in their rush to leave, exacerbated by the fact they refused to keep their hands off each other for a moment, they fell out into the aisle and made a beeline for the unused prop room they had scouted on their way in.

*****

Up in the balcony, the two men in suits watched the display beneath them with amusement.

“I wonder,” the first man mused, “Whether time has proved the comparison more or less accurate.”

“Less, I should think,” his companion said thoughtfully.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“None of your beards were ever quite that rubbish.”

The blond barked a short laugh that settled quickly into a smile. “Why I do believe that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

Matching the smile, the man with the untamable brown hair laid his head on the shoulder of his companion, a near perfect reproduction of the boys below them a moment ago.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Master.”

“And you, Doctor.”

*****

*The author insists this is not intended as a joke, and is merely the unfortunate product of a poor Gallifreyan-English translation. Feel free to chuckle at the unintended pun however, by all means.


End file.
